Ready the troops

Old Forest Road
A great mass of fallen trees literally buries the road for quite some distance. The fallen trees lay every which way, making a maze sometimes 15 feet high. To the left and right, thick masses of rose trees hedge the road, making entrance into the dark wood proper impossible.

The twilight is warm, and the road is muddy below you in the summer night. The road ahead looks tough.

Rains falls steadily through the gap in the trees and runs down in rivulets into pools in the ruts. The road is covered with small pools and gathering water.

Contents:
Witch-king
Obvious exits:
South, East, and West

[+TIME] Middle-earth time is:
Twilight on Hevensday, Day 9 of August.
Execute the +TIMEFRAME command for year information.

Real time is: 20:39:35 MDT on Thu Aug 05 2010.

[Witch-king(#28583)]
Darkness falls upon the fabled forest of Mirkwood, though beneath the leafy boughs little change does this bring, already ruled as they are by the deep pools of shadow beneath the canopy above. And here too, along the Old Forest Road, an unwelcome sight is there to greet any eyes with the keeness to pierce the constant night: a party of orcs and their foul play.

Squalid, brooding fires send the shadows into a hellish dance as the uruk-hai of Mordor set about reclaiming the forest they once called their own, but in truth their station appears temporary a passing occupation perhaps as they set about other business. If so, then the impetus to move could well be arriving, for as the night wears on the sound of hooves echos from tree to tree.

From the west, riding hard along the ancient road, comes a horseman -- clad all in black and followed by darker shades still in its wake. So then returns the Witch-king to his thralls, and the mischief of the orcs pauses for a while, every pair of beady eyes turned to watch his approach.

[Bagurat(#24847)]
Of the orcs gathered about this night, one of them has seated himself further apart from the others. The creature is scrawny, yellow eyed, and clothed in an assortment of crude leather and rags. The reason for his seclusion is evident upon closer inspection -- clutched greedily in his grimy little claws is a dead hare, and it looks like he has already begun skinning the unlucky animal.

A pity. It seems as if dinner will be delayed tonight. As the sound of hooves bounces from trunk to trunk, the scout glances up, a slightly irritated expression upon his twisted face. But then that face turns a tad paler than normal, and Vashnak swallows nervously as the source of the hoof beats comes into view.

[Witch-king(#28583)]
Vashnak is not alone in his anxiety, for the other uruk-hai are likewise pale of face and fragile of gaze as they behold the approach of the Nazgul, and so it is that as he arrives there is all but silence to greet him. Reining in his mount he slips to the forest floor with a surprising grace, striding purposefully toward the dirty fires of the orc camp.

Deep with a black cowl eyes unseen would seem to sweep the scene, for the hood turns hither and thither among the throng, alighting at last upon the figure of Vashnak.

"Step forth," hisses a cold, cruel voice from within those black folds, and a gloved hand beckons the scrawny orc closer.

[Bagurat(#24847)]
If the orc's countenance was pale before, it is nothing compared to the shade it turns when he is signaled out. He dares a quick glance over his shoulder, quite obviously hoping that the cloaked form was speaking to another.

Then, with another visible swallow, Vashnak inches closer. The reluctance is clear. His hands are clenched so tightly that the gray knuckles have turned white, and the crushed hare emits the sharp cracking noise of broken bones. The scout meanwhile, makes no noises, although its mouth opens once or twice in gaping silence.

[Witch-king(#28583)]
But it would seem that the Lord of Morgul has no desire to hear the scout's voice in any case, for as the gloved hand curls into a claw he speaks once again the shadows growing deeper still, or so it might seem, until they choke even the unclean light of the fires.

"Eat your catch, scout," commands the voice of the Nazgul. "And then speed to the fortress with a message. Tell the Teguk that the rabble of the mountains shall join us soo, and to prepare for their arrival with a muster of Sarn Goriwing. Tell him to ready his wargs for mischief in the woods, and to send them on ahead to find me while the orcs are readied..."

[Bagurat(#24847)]
The scout shivers at the thickening darkness, but then the voice speaks on, and the goblin goes still as stone. Indeed, it is as though that horrid voice has the creature mesmerized the yellow eyes appear unable to look away. Slowly, Vashnak offers a blank nod, still fumbling for words of his own. At last he finds them. "Y-yesss," the orc hisses weakly, his long fingers clawing at the rabbit's fur. "I shall do as you command, lord." A pause, and a sickly black tongue licks nervously at his lips. "The mountain-rats...what do they want with us?" The tone is greatly subdued, but the disdain might perhaps be perceived therein.

[Witch-king(#28583)]
A sneer finds its way upon the air then, and the Witch-king answers: "They wish our pardon, and friendship besides, for the brash words of their King, who has been repaid for them already. They will be of use to me, but that is not your affair. Go now, as I bid, and tarry there until my return. The forests are to empty of uruk-hai, until I will it full once more. The wargs will serve me better, so have Sethikh speed them to me."

[Bagurat(#24847)]
Clearly, the scrawny scout is not thrilled with the prospect of a Morian 'friendship,' but he keeps his unhappy opinion to himself. He gives a jerked nod, stuffing the battered rabbit into his fanged mouth to hide his displeased frown. There is a muffled response of acknowledgement and hurried respect pulling his eyes away toward the ground rather than the imposing cloaked figure, Vashnak begins to back away, his clawed feet creating small rends in the earth as he shuffles.

[Witch-king(#28583)]
Perhaps some of Vashnak's mind is writ upon his face, for the Ringwraith studies it and hisses out a final explanation.

"They will serve me, ere long, and bow before the majesty of the Eye, forgetting their paltry Flame. But until that time, their use is in their desire to please us, and court it I shall. Your wits are not those of the Lords of the Dark, so do not trouble what few you have with this matter. Get gone, before I find another with feet that do not dally."

[Bagurat(#24847)]
If the elaborated explanation satisfies the orc's pitiful mind, it does not show -- for the reaction is bested by fear. The scout gives a veiled squeak of fright and, stumbling over his feet for a moment in a renewed haste, turns. Rabbit still dangling in between his nasty teeth, the creature scampers southward ere he is gone into the tangled foliage.

[Witch-king(#28583)]
And so too does the Lord of Morgul leave, though in less haste, and in his wake there lingers the remembrance of dread.